Jack's Romance: Amelie
by Leah RKN Karlsen
Summary: "Names. They identified yet mystified. They were given and some were kept, some were changed. They're forgotten in time, hidden beneath lies. I never forgot names and the person that went with them. I found it disrespectful to do so." Jacey 'Jack' Finch's names in the form of diary extracts.


"**Names. They identified yet mystified. They were given and some were kept, some were changed. They're forgotten in time, hidden beneath lies. I never forgot names and the person that went with them. I found it disrespectful to do so." **

**Jacey 'Jack' Finch's names in the form of diary extracts.**

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**Jack's Romance: Amelie**

Her name was Amelie Dubois. I met her on the Route d'Aïre in the Le Lignon district of Geneva on December 23 2001. I'd been in Switzerland for two days now but had yet to meet anyone though I doubted anyone I'd ever meet would compare to her. I still remember how my breath had caught when I saw her, after we'd walked into each other of course.

Her hair was a chestnut brown with reddish streaks; part of it was hidden under a hat. A scarf was around her neck and her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. Her eyes were a soft green, almost hazel but not quite. She was a little taller than me but not by much and she was smiling as if I amused her. I'd never met anyone more beautiful in my life.

We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening together, walking the streets; exploring as we flirted. I felt like I'd known her for years and I was sure the feeling was mutual. We parted with tentative plans to meet again.

On the 28th, five days from when we first met, I stood on the Pont-Butin waiting. This was where we'd arranged to meet, at 2pm. I was about to give up and leave when I heard someone call. Even if I'd only known her for six hours, five days ago, she was still the only person in the city who'd call my name with a French accent. I turned and instantly had her arms thrown around my neck, my own went around her waist to steady her as she'd all but jumped at me. I could smell her hair and it was…enticing in a way. That was when I knew, I was attracted to her. Amelie Dubois was the first girl I'd ever been attracted to, my first crush. She would be my first everything.

We spent three days straight together, wandering the city, flirting. Then it was New Year's Eve and we were meeting at 9pm on the rue de l'ecole de medecine, ready for the concerts and public celebrations that would begin at 10.

The countdown. How could I have forgotten? It had been on my mind all day as I wondered what might happen but Amelie had made me forget. She'd make me forget everything and for that, she was dangerous.

Ten, nine, eight…

Amelie turned to me, meeting my eyes. She looked so happy and so beautiful, like she truly enjoyed my company. She didn't know my story but if it stopped her looking at me like that, I'd never tell her.

Seven, six, five…

We were facing each other, staring into the others eyes. We were standing in our own little space in the middle of the street as the crowd had moved, chanting, ready for the ball to drop.

Four, three, two…

Amelie's hand moved to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and then touched my cheek. She leant closer as she whispered the numbers to me in French. Her intention was clear but I didn't stop her, I didn't want her to stop.

One, zero…

The crowd erupted into cheers but I didn't hear it. Amelie's lips were on mine, soft and gentle. My hands moved to her waist to pull her closer and I felt her smile. It felt like years before we pulled apart but I knew it had been only seconds. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were soft as she looked at me. She stepped back but took my hand, weaving our frozen fingers together.

It took almost an hour to get to Amelie's apartment. She assured me that her sister Melanie was working and would not be home until 4am at the earliest. We opened and finished a bottle of wine as we sat on the balcony overlooking the city and celebrations four storeys below. I don't know how or when it happened but I remember lying on her bed kissing her. I remember the sensation of her hips rolling against my own as she pressed kisses along my collarbone, down my neck, over the top of my breasts, across my stomach. I remember feeling her soft skin against mine, our bare legs entangling and how her stomach quivered when I touched it whether it be with my hands or my mouth.

I woke the next morning with a headache and the warmest p pillow ever. We had fallen asleep, our legs still tangled. My head lay on her shoulder, my arm over her waist. Her hands were on my arm and the one I was laid on curved around my back to my hip, holding me against her. We were both in our underwear and she swears that nothing else happened apart from touching and kissing the skin our underwear exposed.

I believed her; I had no reason not to. That day I left the apartment in the mid-afternoon, after having spent the day lounging around with Amelie.

On the third of January we met once again on the Pont-Butin. Once again we wandered the city and once again we ended up back at her apartment. Melanie was working once again so were alone. I made a stir-fry for her, just noodles and peppers with a few herbs and spices to add flavour.

I remember sitting with her on the sofa, watching a TV show. Or rather, Amelie was watching and I was watching her. It was in French, I didn't know a lot of French but Amelie was enough to look at. I didn't feel like I was only 14, I felt like this would never end. But it would. I was going back to New York the next day and I'd probably never see Amelie again. I told her so and once again I have no idea how it happened.

I remember lying beneath her in her bed as she undressed me and as I undressed her. I remember it being slow, soft; caring, almost hesitant. I'd never done anything beyond kissing before but I didn't regret this. I don't regret knowing how her skin tasted or how it felt. I don't regret knowing how her hips rose and locked as she came.

I don't regret letting her be the first to explore my body. I don't regret letting her know the sensitive spot between my leg and hipbone just as I don't regret knowing her reaction to having teeth scraped along her neck.

I left that night, after hours of just laying there in her bed, curled together. I had to go back to the hotel, finish my packing but I left her a note.

A note to meet me a final time on the Pont-Butin at 9am on January 4th.

She came. I almost hadn't expected her to. I'd grown and matured so much in the time I'd known her. It was hard to remember that I was 14 and she, 16. We walked for the last time through the streets, meandering our way towards her apartment. We sat on the steps on her building. My head on her shoulder, her head resting on my leg. We weren't talking; just being here together was enough. We knew it would end, and soon, but we desperately wanted it to last. The taxi arrived at 1pm to take me to the airport as my flight was at 2.30pm. I'd spent as much time as I could with her but now it had to end.

We kissed, one last time, on the frozen Swiss sidewalk. We promised to remember the other, even if it was only in our dreams. We promised to never forget what we had shared.

I don't know about her but I kept my promise. I will always remember her, my first attraction, my first lover, my first woman.

Amelie Dubois, my first everything.


End file.
